


marked man

by jackgyeoms



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Child Abuse, Homophobia, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackgyeoms/pseuds/jackgyeoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian doesn’t have a soul mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	marked man

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first QAF fic in years, and I hope you enjoy it!!! Depending on feedback and inspiration, this could be a longer fic, but for now, just a standalone :)
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

 

Brian doesn’t have a soul mark.

At school, they learn that generally people are born with theirs, the name of the person who will be theirs. Brian has always liked the sound of that, but no matter how much he wishes, his skin remains smooth and unmarred. Brian could look around his classroom and see “Catherine” and “Tommy” and one “Uzo”, but never upon him. Always someone else.

Claire’s had hers since she was born. Neatly spaced letters that read “Robert”. It’s the first word she learns how to read. She speaks about this Robert a lot and how wonderful things will be, how their life will be together. Brian reminds her that they haven’t met yet, so how can she know?

His mother tells him that envy is a sin, and he shouldn’t try to destroy his sister’s happiness. The next time Claire speaks about Robert, he stays quiet.

He asks his teacher, Miss Mulligan, why he doesn’t have his mark yet. Hers is on her wrist, and when she reaches out to be a sympathetic hand upon his shoulder, he catches a glimpse of it. Rachel. He wonders whether she’s met her soulmate yet.

“It could be anything. Your soulmate might not be born yet, they might not know who they are yet,” she tells him, “Nothing is certain.”

Miss Mulligan knows about Timothy in the class, and the words he spat over lunch break. _I bet you don’t even have a soulmate!_ Brian sits in front of his mirror and wonders whether the lack of mark means that no one will ever love him.

He tells his mum his fears, and she tells him that God will always love him.

But she says that God loves everybody, and he knows that’s not the same.

His mother doesn’t speak about her mark, although he knows it’s on her ankle, hidden under the constant presence of a plaster. She forbids him from every mentioning it. Claire tells him quietly, in those rare moments of solidarity when they’re pressed in close and cowering together, she thinks that it’s because their mother’s soulmate isn’t their dad.

His dad has scarred skin, a shiny patch that looks like it hurts. Sometimes he catches his dad rubbing it, and then he reaches for another drink, and Brian must make an escape. Dad doesn’t like to be disturbed while he’s drinking. (He finds out that’s what happens when your soulmate dies, and the one time he asks his dad about it, he has a headache for four days. He never brings it up again).

-

He writes a name himself in fifth grade. Just scrawls it in black marker pen across his wrist. Frank. He doesn’t know why he chose that name. He parades and pretends, smug at the startled looks on his classmates’ faces. He has never had a mark but now he does, and he’s the same as the rest of them.

He shows his parents, and his dad hits him so hard that his jaw throbs. Later, when Claire is quietly taking care of his cuts, the ink smudges on his wrist.

“You shouldn’t have lied,” she tells him, and Brian tells himself not to cry when she scrubs it away.

The next day, the skin is raw and nameless once more.

-

Brian is eleven when he gets his name. Wakes up, leans up to stretch and catches the glimpse of the writing in the mirror just under the hem of his shirt. _Justin_. It’s scrawled and untidy, but that’s what it says. He touches it, traces the edges of the word, repeats it to himself again and again until it loses all meaning. He smiles, and although he thinks he looks goofy, he cannot stop himself.

A noise beyond his door disturbs him, and Brian remembers _Frank_. His heart pounds and his throat tightens to the point that he has to shudder for breath. He splays his fingers across Justin, and in the mirror, his hand covers it entirely.

Brian drops his shirt, and it’s as if _Justin_ doesn’t exist.

-

At thirteen, Brian tells himself that he doesn’t care about his soulmark, about Justin. Nobody knows that his words came in, and he doesn’t tell them. His parents fight, and he and his sister are the causalities.

He tried to find Justin, looks hopeful at any he meets, only to feel that rush of crushing disappointment when he doesn’t see his own name mirrored back to him. Disappointment, Brian realises, is worse than anger and hatred; it’s a weight that settles in your stomach, rises and drops to make you feel sick. He doesn’t like that feeling, so he stops looking.

He thinks of Claire and her fascination of Robert. He thinks of his mother and her guarded secret, and his father with his burnt away. I don’t need Justin, he decides, _who needs a soulmate anyway?_

Coach Ryland is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t try to stop him when he gets down on his knees in front of him.

Brian repeats confirmations of control, and by the time he wakes up the next morning, he no longer feels that phantom touch that makes his stomach churn.

-

“What name do you have?” Michael implores.

Brian meets him at fourteen, at his new school. He knows that the move was probably to do with Coach, and whilst his angry at his mother for uprooting his life so viciously, he cannot bring himself to regret it too much. After all, here has Mikey.

They’re in Michael’s backyard. His mum, Debbie, is working, and Brian has hours before he wants to be home. The sun warms his skin, and the grass tickles the back of his neck. It’s a break from the chaotic normalcy of his life. At the question, he throws his arm over his eyes to act as a shade and squints at his friend.

Mikey looks at him with eager patience, and Brian pushes back with, “Why does it matter?”

“No reason. I was just curious, you know,” he replies quickly, and Brian knows he’s disappointed. Fuck. He hates that.

Brian gives a long sigh, and his free hand is settled on his waist. Over his shirt, his fingers touch the name. “Justin,” he confides. His voice is low and its breezy and a part of him hopes that Mikey doesn’t hear him. Of course, he’s not that lucky.

“Oh,” Mikey says. “That’s a good name.”

“Yeah,” Brian mumbles.

Mikey doesn’t mention Justin again. He just tells everyone that Brian doesn’t want to talk about it.

-

Brian wears a shirt in every single one of his hook ups. He will let the person he’s fucking touch him anywhere but there. Those at the rules.

Rules maintain control, and over his own body, he will allow no one else that power.

-

Brian gets into Carnegie Mellon on a soccer scholarship. The letter is waiting on the welcome mat when he gets home from school, and he locks himself away in his room before he opens it.

He tells Mikey first, and then Debbie. She throws him a congratulations dinner, and there, Brian feels welcomed.

He doesn’t tell his parents that he is accepted, and he doesn’t tell them when he leaves for college. Joan calls him to complain once a week that she didn’t know in advance, and to remind him of what a terrible son he is. Claire calls only to complain about their mother, although once she calls to tell him that she found her Robert. Then, Brian feigns that he cares, and lets his fingers rest on his soulmark when he realises maybe he wasn’t pretending as much as he hoped.

-

He meets Lindsey there. She has the name Melanie in cursive on the curve of her breast. Brian traces it with his tongue the first time they sleep together. It only happens twice, and in the end, they both agree that they weren’t each other’s type.

The last time Lindsey puts her hand to Justin and says, “You’ll find him. And I’ll find her.”

Brian doesn’t bother telling her that he doesn’t care anymore, because she’ll know that’s a lie. But when he leaves, he goes to the nearest bar to find a willing man to fuck. When the man slips his hand under his shirt, Brian kicks him out. Fraying at the edges and angry, he hates that _Justin_ is fucking up his life without even actually being there.

-

He finishes school and is given a position at Ryder’s. It’s the best in the state, and Brian promises he will make it the best in the world.

On the personnel form he has to fill out, they ask him: NAME OF SOULMATE. He stares at the words for a long time, before he makes a choice.

N/A

Brian smiles pleasantly at the HR team member, accepts the key card and the copies of the forms for his own filing. He sits in the car in the parking lot for a long while, hand pressed into Justin, and reminds himself he has nothing to feel guilty about. _I don’t even know the guy._

-

Emmett shows up at the diner one day, and makes friends with Mikey so Brian guesses he’s a friend too. He has the name “Drew” in block letters along the small of his back, constantly on display in his low riding trousers. He’s loud and proud and so unapologetic in who he is.

Brian loves and hates him in equal measure for it.

-

Lindsey finds her Melanie, and with Melanie comes Ted. He’s an accountant that Emmett thinks is wonderful, and Mikey thinks has a big heart. One invite to Babylon and Brian supposes they can’t get rid of him so he adjusts. Besides, he likes Ted. He’s intimidated by Brian, but not enough to not telling him the truth. Brian appreciates honesty.

When soulmates come up, Ted carefully pats a space on his collarbone. The name is hidden under his work shirt and jacket, but he’s content to offer a name. “Blake,” he says. His hand lingers there like Brian’s does on Justin, even in those moments that he doesn’t want to admit to, and he thinks he understands Ted just a little bit.

Not that he’d ever tell him.

-

At twenty-six, Brian tells himself that he’s never going to find Justin. He looks out at the world he has made for himself – the name he made for himself at Ryder, the title he has on Liberty Avenue; his loft and his car and more money than he ever thought he was capable of having as a child. He’s a big fat fucking success, and that had nothing to do with his soulmate.

Debbie tells him once that she wishes he would settle down. She smiles at him like she does Mikey, because he is as much her son. He puts his hand over hers, and tells her, “I don’t need a soulmate”.

-

Lindsey and Melanie want a baby, and he’s asked to the father. Melanie doesn’t like him, never has, but she has her name on Lindsey and Lindsey name on her, so there is nothing to fear. She stares Brian down when Lindsey puts their case forward.

Good genes. So smart. We really want this. We want our baby to know their father. You won’t have to support us, we’ll be fine.

You’ll make an excellent father.

Brian says it’s for Lindsey that he agrees, and that pissing off Mel is just a happy bonus. He purposefully ignores his wonderings on mortality and loneliness that settles in just for a moment, before he drowns them in Jim Beam.

-

“Do you think we’ll find them?” Emmett sighs. It’s been a long time, and there’s an itch in Brian’s skin that makes him want to scratch and pull and rip it away. He closes his eyes against it, just as he has every time before.

When he sighs, he can see his breathe in front of him. “Who?”

“Them,” Emmett says, and his hand traced along the line of his trousers to his back. Absentmindedly, Brian mimics, moves until he can trace the name on his ribcage. He realises, and his fingers fold into a fist.

“Who gives a fuck?” he replies. He keeps his voice monotone. He won’t give anything away.

“I give a fuck,” Emmett retorts sharply, “And so do you.”

Brian huffs a laugh, and it sounds jarringly false in his own ears. “No, I really don’t.”

“You are a lot of things Brian Kinney,” Emmett says, “But a liar isn’t one of them.”

Something pulls taunt, and Brian wants to scream and shout until the words can be taken back. But they’re out there in the world, and Emmett is watching him with more seriousness than he usually possesses. It makes Brian feel unsteady, and he steps away from the wall to stumble a few steps because if he cannot have distance from the voice in his head, and the awareness of Justin on his waist, he will put some space between himself and Emmett.

“You don’t know shit Honeycutt,” Brian hisses sharply.

“Don’t call me Honeycutt,” Emmett shoots back.

“I don’t need a soulmate,” he repeats the words, “And neither do you.”

“His name is _Justin_ ,” Emmett reminds him, voice tight at the edges, like he’s barely holding on. Brian has never told him the name embedded upon himself – fucking Michael, he curses to himself. “And this has nothing to do with needing them. You don’t _need_ Justin, you _want_ Justin.”

“Stop saying his name,” Brian snaps. His shoulders are tense, and his heart is pounding and he echoes _I don’t need a soulmate_ back at himself, as if the more he tells himself the less he will notice the way he stumbles over the words.

Ted and Mikey return in that moment, press down on the horn to draw attention, and neither say anymore. Brian tells Ted to “just drive” when Mikey asks him what’s wrong, and when he gets out at his loft, he’s satisfied by the slam of the car door in the quiet night.

Emmett doesn’t mention their marks again, but Brian doesn’t think he has to. Staring up at his ceiling, spread out on his bed, Brian is bitterly aware that the bastard has already made his point.

-

Lindsey gives him a copies of the ultrasound. She has been since the first appointment, and Brian shoves the pictures into a draw and puts them into the back of his mind. The blurry image of something mean little to nothing, until it suddenly means everything.

He can see eyes, legs, arms, ears. Lindsey points them all out to him. “A boy,” she informs him, “A healthy baby boy.”

A son. He’s going to have a son.

Brian talks to his kid that day, the first time since Michael mentioned the positive affects it could have on an unborn child. He says that he cannot wait to meet him, that he’s going to be lucky to have the munchers (Lindsey elbowed him for that one) as parents because they’re going to give him everything he’s ever wanted. Brian says that he’ll take him to play soccer and they’ll go to the park, and makes promises he isn’t sure he’d be able to keep.

“And your name…” Brian starts and stops, “Your name, whether you have it or not, whatever happens, I’ve got you Sonny Boy. Okay? I got you.”

Lindsey hugs him for longer than she usually would before she leaves, and it just makes Brian feel stiff with embarrassment, the back of his neck too hot and his chest too tight.

He goes out and drinks more than he normally would, turns over tricks faster because every lapse between a fuck or blowjob hurts, and this is relief. But when he’s back home, his hand finds his ribcage, and fingers trace the name.

-

Outside Babylon, Brian finds Justin.

He’s twenty-nine now, and he can feel the come down of drugs and alcohol setting into his bones and making him more tired than he should be. There’s work tomorrow, his friends are bitching at him, and suddenly there is nothing appealing about the amass of sweating bodies laid before him.

Brian just looks up to survey the street, and it’s as if the world shifts.

He thinks it might be a dream, or maybe he’s just drunk too much, because the kid comes out of the smoke like he materialised. He’s leant against a lamppost and waiting – for him, Brian has already decided.

He’s young, Brian concludes when he gets closer, and remembers himself at eleven, back in that bedroom, that morning. He drags his fingernails over where his words are, and the angel reacts.

Brian’s close, but he doesn’t touch, just hovers. He wants to speak, but there’s a voice in his head screaming that this is more than what he’s convinced himself it will be, and another whispering you don’t need a soulmate.

His eyes are really blue this close, too blue, and too wide, looking at him with something equally terrified and hopeful. He wonders if he looks the same. He doesn’t want to.

“Brian,” he says, trying.

He could walk away; he could say nothing. He could fuck the kid and leave because he’s got what he wanted. Fucking is easy, simple. Soulmates are bullshit. He remembers the way he had touched that name the first time, knowing that this was his and somewhere he was someone’s.

He didn’t need anyone.

He wants someone anyways.

He watches the kid swallow.

Brian replies, “Justin”.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr for more quality trash](http://gladers.co.vu) <3


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